The Agent and The Thief
by Snapdragon83
Summary: An FBI agent meets his match in a beautiful art thief.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Yes, I know, I should finish my other stories before starting a new one, but the idea for this one has been in my head for awhile, and my muse just wouldn't let me alone anymore until I wrote it. Hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I am writing it! Thanks to gypsyscarfwoman and DylanCruca for brainstorming with me and proofreading for me.

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The museum had an excellent security system, if not state of the art, but they might as well not have wasted the money for all the deterrent it was proving to the black-clad figure creeping soundlessly across the main gallery. The steadiness of her footsteps belied the adrenaline rushing through her veins—and the heartbreak over what she was about to do.

She paused in front of the painting she had come to steal. Its features weren't as easily discernable in the dim light, but she gazed up at it with all the awe she had felt when she first laid eyes on it. The same awe she felt every time she looked at it. It belonged here, where the public could enjoy it, and it went against everything she believed in to steal it, but she had no choice.

Her brother's life depended on it.

Swallowing down her nausea, she got to work, and in a remarkably short span of time, the painting was free of its frame and ensconced in the storage tube on her back. She retraced her steps almost on autopilot and slipped back out into the night.

Once the painting was secure, she took a deep breath. She needed the oblivion only to be found in the bottom of a bottle of alcohol. She slipped back into her street clothes and headed for her favorite bar.

xxx

He'd been at the bar for half an hour when the woman walked in, and his first glimpse of her was like a punch to the gut. She wasn't dressed to attract men, but with her flowing dark hair and brilliant green eyes, it would be impossible for her not to garner their attention. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

She took a seat on a stool several feet away from him, and he watched her out of the corner of his eye as she knocked back one drink, then another. She looked like someone with the weight of the world on her shoulders, but it was clear she didn't want company: she rebuffed the advances of the two men who offered to buy her drinks with such curtness that they all but stumbled over their feet in their haste to get away.

She would probably rebuff him as well, but something told him he'd regret it for the rest of his life if he didn't try. Picking up his empty glass, he moved down the counter to the stool next to hers.

She didn't even glance his way. "Let me guess," she said in a weary voice. "I look lonely, and you want to buy me a drink."

"Actually, I was lonely, and I was hoping you'd buy me one," he teased, and smiled as she bit back a startled laugh as her gaze flew to his. "I'm Kurt."

She hesitated for so long he thought she wasn't going to answer. "Jane." She motioned the bartender over. "Two more of whatever he's having." She smiled slightly as she met his gaze once more. "Far be it from me to let a lonely man drink alone."

"That would be pretty cruel," Kurt agreed, relieved that his gambit had broken the ice, and the conversation flowed in that same light vein as they enjoyed their drinks. He was happy to note that the sadness in Jane's eyes lessened with every passing minute, but all too soon, their time together appeared to be coming to a close.

"Would you like to share a cab?" Kurt asked as they stood to leave, placing a hand low on Jane's back to usher her out the door first. He was stunned at the electricity that flowed between them at that simple contact and judging by the look on her face when she turned to face him once they'd exited, she felt it too.

"I would, but . . . I don't want this night to end yet," Jane confessed with uncharacteristic boldness.

"Me either," Kurt admitted as he swept a lock of hair back from Jane's face. "Would you . . . would you like to come back to my place? I can tell you anything you want to know about me so that you'll feel more comfortable."

Jane shook her head. "I already feel comfortable with you, and trust me, I can take care of myself if need be." She wrapped her arms around his waist, and as he tilted his head down until their lips were just a hairsbreadth away from meeting for the first time, she whispered, "Tonight . . . tonight we're just Jane and Kurt."


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So glad to hear from all of you who enjoyed this new story so far. I appreciate all the reviews, and I hope you like this chapter just as much. Starting college soon (years overdue), so my free time will be limited, but I will try to occasionally update this or one of my other stories.

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Jane Kruger dressed for the worst day of her professional career with care. She'd been awake for over an hour when the call came in about the theft of her museum's newly acquired painting—hell, she'd been awake most of the night if she were being honest, and her body tingled at the memory—and she donned a gray skirt suit that flattered her curves without being overtly sexy.

Not that she owned anything overtly sexy. Her wardrobe consisted mostly of suits similar in style and color to the one she was wearing and exercise clothes, much to her friend Sarah's disgust. But to Jane, they helped portray her as professional. In control. Trustworthy. Honest. All the things she'd striven to be her entire adult life, and no longer was, Jane thought bitterly. The morals she'd purported to live by had caved in an instant to Shepherd's diabolical demands.

Her hatred for the woman who she had briefly considered a mother was so intense she could practically taste it, and Jane sighed as she studied her reflection in the mirror. The past few months had taken their toll on her; worry lines seemed to have taken up permanent residence on her forehead. At least they would come in handy this morning.

She grabbed her purse and rooted around for her keys, but her fingers closed around a slip of paper along with them, and she unfolded it curiously.

 _Jane,_

 _I'm not generally the type to pick up dates in bars (and I don't think you are either), but I had a great time tonight, and I'd love to see you again. If you feel the same, give me a call._

 _Kurt._

His phone number was at the bottom.

Jane sighed again, and this time it sounded like it came from the soles of her feet. Kurt was exactly the type of guy she'd have liked to have met a year ago—except for the fact that she'd quickly pegged him as a cop—but her hookup with him was destined to be a one-night stand; it had to be. She had accepted that there was no future for her, but she wasn't selfish or stupid enough to drag anyone else into the insanity that was her life.

No, she could never see Kurt again.

But she tucked his note away in her nightstand before leaving anyway.

The museum was swarming with FBI when she arrived, and one of the security guards had to identify her before an agent came out to escort her inside.

"You're the curator here?" the woman asked, and when Jane nodded, she introduced herself as they started up the steps. "I'm Agent Zapata with the FBI's Critical Incident Response Group. I understand you were the driving force behind the recent acquisition of the painting that was stolen."

"Jane Kruger," Jane responded automatically, even though Agent Zapata obviously already knew that. "Yes, I . . . I'm sorry, why are you investigating this instead of the Art Crime Team? The loss of this painting certainly qualifies as a critical incident to us, but—"

"I can't really comment on the specifics of an ongoing investigation," Zapata interrupted.

Jane nodded. "Oh, of course." And really, there was no need. The fact that a group who was more readily dispatched to deal with terrorist threats than the loss of priceless artwork was here said it all. _Shepherd, what the hell have you gotten me into?_ "Yes, I spearheaded the drive to purchase the painting. We're a small museum, and we wouldn't normally have been able to afford one of that caliber, but the owners negotiated a very fair price for it. They felt strongly that it should be displayed for the public to enjoy, and they liked the idea of it being the star attraction here, rather than one more masterpiece at, say, The Met."

"And it would be well worth the price in the long run, since it would boost admissions," Zapata surmised.

"Exactly," Jane agreed. "We acquired the painting a little over a month ago, and already we've seen a thirty percent hike in revenue. It was looted by the Nazis during World War II and only recently returned to the heirs of the original owner, so art lovers have been clamoring to see it."

"Do you think they could have had something to do with this?" Zapata asked. "The owners that sold it to you, I mean. It was quite a windfall for them, to let it go so cheaply. They could have sold it to you for some quick cash, and then used some of that money to hire someone to steal it back for them to enjoy."

Jane smiled wryly. "I'd hardly call fifty million dollars a bargain basement price, Agent Zapata, although the painting would have fetched easily twice that at auction. But no," she added forcefully, "I absolutely don't believe the previous owners had anything to do with this. They're a very nice older couple who were already well off financially, and we've granted them lifetime free admission to come see the painting anytime they choose."

Zapata nodded. "Well, we're still going to need their names so we can talk to them." She lifted the crime scene tape across the entrance to the main gallery, and she and Jane ducked underneath. Weller had his back to them as they approached, deep in conversation with Reade. "And I hope you don't mind my asking, but where were you between the hours of nine p.m. and six a.m.?"

"I was . . ." Jane sucked in a breath as the two agents turned, and she found herself face-to-face with the man she'd determined a mere half hour ago to never see again. He looked as stunned to see her as she felt, but his face quickly blanked back into cop mode.

Zapata's eyes narrowed as she looked from one to the other. "You two know each other?"

"No," Jane said quickly. Strictly speaking, that was true. She still didn't even know Kurt's last name, though clearly that was about to be remedied. She had a feeling he was about to learn more about her and her past than was good for her. What the hell was Shepherd thinking, bringing the cops down on her head like this?

"Okay," Zapata said, unconvinced. "This is my boss, Special Agent Weller, and my partner, Agent Reade. Guys, this is the curator of the museum, Jane Kruger. She's been filling me in on the provenance of the painting, and she was just about to account for her whereabouts last night."

 _I broke back into the museum and stole the painting that was supposed to be the crowning achievement of my career here, then went home with your boss and screwed his brains out,_ Jane thought. Aloud, she said only, "Sure. I left here last night around six-thirty and picked up some Chinese on the way home. I stayed in until a little after ten, when I went to my favorite bar for a couple of drinks. I was there for about an hour." She could feel Kurt's eyes boring into her as she named the bar, but she didn't meet his gaze. "And then I went home." Eventually. "And before you ask, I live alone, so there's no one other than the bartender who can verify my story."

"Okay," Zapata said when neither Weller nor Reade had any questions of their own. "We're still nailing down a timeline of events for last night, so we'll be in touch if we have any further questions."

"Anything you need," Jane agreed. "I'll have my assistant get you the contact information for the painting's sellers. I want it back where it belongs as soon as possible." That, at least, was the gospel truth, though it wasn't likely to happen. She would be handing the painting over to Oscar in two days time, and it would no doubt be sold to some black market buyer to line Shepherd's coffers. She swallowed the now-familiar feeling of regret.

Her brother's life was worth a million such masterpieces.

xxx

"She's hiding something," Zapata observed as the team watched Jane duck back under the crime scene tape and head toward her office.

 _Yeah,_ Kurt thought, _a night of mind-blowing sex with me._ And as much as he appreciated her attempt to protect his reputation, lying about having an alibi had been an incredibly stupid thing to do.

But it did give him hope that she felt the connection between them as strongly as he did.

"Doesn't mean it's anything case-related," Reade pointed out, ever the voice of reason. "For all we know, she could be screwing a married man or an employee. She really doesn't seem the type to be creeping around in the dead of night robbing museums."

"Fifty bucks says you're wrong," Tasha countered, and noted with interest that the crease between Weller's eyebrows deepened.

"People's lives aren't a betting matter, Zapata," he snapped. He took a deep breath as both Reade and Zapata looked at him in surprise. "I think we're done here. Let's leave the crime scene techs to their work and head back to the office to see if Patterson has found anything."

"We still haven't gotten the contact info for—"

"I'll get it," Kurt cut Zapata off. "You and Reade bring the car around and meet me out front." He strode off in the direction Jane had gone before he could make an even bigger ass of himself. He was muddling this situation badly, but he didn't have a clue how to navigate this intersection of his professional and personal lives.

Jane was just handing a slip of paper to another woman he assumed was her assistant, and she froze like a deer in the headlights as she saw him approaching. "Hey," Kurt greeted. "Could we . . . could we talk for a minute? Alone?"

Jane's smile felt stiff on her lips. "Of course." She took the paper back from Ana and handed it to him as they entered her office. "Here's the contact info for the Fergusons. I, uh . . ." Her voice trailed off as Kurt brushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

"Are you okay?" he asked. She'd seemed like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders last night even before this happened.

To her alarm, tears welled in Jane's eyes at his kindness. "I've . . . had better days." She told herself she should resist as he pulled her into his arms, but instead she found herself laying her head on his chest and clinging to him in return.

Eventually, sanity returned, and she forced herself to draw back. "Look, about last night . . . I know you can't want this to get out any more than I do, so if your investigation does connect us at the bar, I think we should say we left together and went our separate ways."

"What I want," Kurt said deliberately, "is for you to be cleared as a suspect in this case so that I can ask you out for a proper date. And you have my word that I will make that a priority, even if it means coming clean to my boss about us. You're not going to be under a cloud of suspicion for long if I can help it, Jane; I promise you that." He hated to leave with her looking so distraught, but the sooner he could clear this obstacle from their path, the better. Hopefully they would have better luck identifying a suspect in this case than in the previous five robberies that this thief had committed.

Within minutes of returning to the NYO, Kurt learned to be careful what he wished for. Patterson had the video of the robbery queued up on the monitors in SIOC when they arrived, and he felt a cold chill snake its way down his spine as he watched the black-clad thief walk over to the painting and stare reverently up at it before getting down to business. The gait and posture were painfully familiar, and that head cock . . . he'd seen it firsthand for himself last night in the throes of passion. Even as his heart rebelled against what his mind was telling him, he knew he'd been played.

Jane was the thief.

And he was a fool.


	3. Chapter 2

In honor of surviving my first college midterms . . . here's another chapter for you. Sorry it's been so long since I updated. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Let me know. :)

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Kurt had to swallow twice before he could speak. "Stop the tape." He barely recognized the sound of his own voice. "That's Jane." He glanced at the timestamp on the video. Just a little after nine. So she'd stolen the painting, went home to change, and then hooked up with him at the bar and fucked him senseless. Charming.

"Really?" Zapata's eyes narrowed in speculation as she studied Weller. "You can tell that from a dark surveillance video after one meeting? That's . . . amazing."

"Who's Jane?" Patterson wanted to know.

"The curator of the museum," Reade told her. "Jane Kruger."

"Who you said was absolutely not the type to be involved," Zapata gleefully reminded him. "You owe me fifty bucks. Pay up."

Reade's eyes narrowed. "And like you just said, Weller's ID off a dark surveillance video after one meeting is pretty incredible. I doubt if we can even get a search warrant for her place based on that. I think I'll wait until we have some concrete evidence before I give you a dime."

"Enough!" The banter that normally secretly amused Kurt was grating on him today. "We might not have enough evidence to charge Jane yet, but we're not going to rest until we do. Patterson, see if you can do your forensic voodoo on that tape and confirm it's her. Reade, Zapata, start digging into her past and find something to justify that search warrant. In the meantime, I'm going to bring Jane in for questioning and see if I can't trick her into revealing something that will give us cause to hold her."

Though if she was as calculating as he now suspected, his interrogation wouldn't faze her. It was clear to him now that she had orchestrated their meeting, either to cultivate a relationship with him to find out where he was at in the investigation or to compromise his integrity in the event she became a suspect. Which she had done with entirely too much ease. _Damn you, Jane Kruger._

Kurt's jaw was clenched tight the entire drive back to the museum. Jane looked up with a welcoming smile as he appeared in the doorway to her office, but it quickly faded at the hard look he gave her in return, to be replaced by . . . sadness? Resignation? Whatever it was, it was just as much an act as the desire she'd feigned for him last night. She'd probably even faked her orgasms.

"From the looks of things, you didn't come here to give me good news," Jane said evenly.

"We haven't recovered the painting yet," Kurt bit out. _Which you already know, you bitch._ "But we are pursuing a lead. I need you to come back to our office with me and answer a few questions."

"I see." Jane surprised him by getting up without a fight and putting her coat on. He'd expected her to lawyer up on the spot, but no doubt she was savvy enough to realize that if they had anything concrete on her, she'd be making the trip in handcuffs. Her composure certainly indicated that, but as Kurt placed a hand on her back to usher her out the door, he realized that calm was yet another act. She was trembling beneath his touch, and he fought back a momentary wave of sympathy.

 _She's just nervous about the fact that she's going to wind up in jail,_ he reminded himself, but just as he was shoring up his defenses against her, he made the mistake of glancing down at her, and the vulnerable look in her green eyes had his protective instincts rising to the fore again. Along with a healthy wave of lust. _What the hell is wrong with me today_? he wondered in disgust. He considered himself a chivalrous guy, but he'd never before fallen prey to a damsel-in-distress con. Clearly, it had been far too long since he'd gotten laid.

The drive back to the NYO was accomplished in silence, and Kurt took Jane straight to an interview room. "Make sure she doesn't leave," he said to the agent he'd had accompany them, loudly enough for Jane to hear. He could feel her eyes boring into his back as he exited, but he wanted to see what the team had found before questioning her. "Where we at?" he asked when he rejoined the others in the bullpen.

"Jane—assuming she is the real Jane Kruger and not an identity thief as well—is something of a mystery," Zapata began. "She was born Alice Kruger in 1984, the oldest of two children to George and Susan Kruger. Her brother Ian was born four years later, and by all accounts, they were a happy family until her parents were murdered in a home invasion robbery when Alice was seven."

"Were . . . were Alice and her brother there at the time?" Kurt asked hoarsely.

"Yeah." Reade's voice was grim. "The first police on scene found her huddled with Ian in the closet in his bedroom. According to the report, the parents told Alice to grab her brother and hide when the burglar broke in. God only knows how long they were in that closet until they were found."

Kurt swallowed hard as the image of a frightened, heartbroken young Jane flashed through his mind. It hit all too close to home, given his own history.

"Things went downhill for Alice and Ian from there," Zapata continued. "They had no family to take them in, so they were placed in foster care. Their case worker managed to keep them together for the first couple years, but when their foster parents decided to move out of state, they were told they were going to be split up. That was when Alice began stealing and ran away with Ian for the first time."

"Because Ian was all she had left in the world," Kurt surmised. "She was determined to be a good big sister and protect him." He knew how that felt.

"Yeah, well . . ." Zapata blew out a breath. "Her attempts at 'protecting him' landed in her in a juvenile detention facility multiple times. Her last arrest was for pickpocketing not long after her eleventh birthday. When she got out, she took off with Ian again, and social services never caught up with them. The next time Alice Kruger popped up was shortly after her eighteenth birthday, when she legally changed her name to Jane. She obtained her GED and got a degree in art history—graduated magna cum laude even though she was also working full-time—before being hired on at The Met as an assistant curator. She was offered the curator position at her current job a little over a year ago."

"And Ian?" Kurt asked curiously.

"He showed up four years after Jane did and followed in his sister's footsteps by changing his name to Lincoln and getting a degree in education."

"So she kept them together and safe until he was old enough to look out for himself. Good for her," Kurt commented.

Zapata shot him an odd look. "Together, apparently, but how safe is debatable. No one knows what happened in the seven-year gap Alice was missing, but her case worker thought there was a high likelihood that she and/or Ian would wind up being sex trafficked. And in the end, her efforts were all for naught anyway."

Zapata's words had been such a blow to the gut that it took a moment for her last comment to register. Kurt frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You don't recognize the name Lincoln Kruger?" Mayfair spoke up for the first time. "He was one of the eight foreign teachers kidnapped by Al-Qaeda in South Africa a few months back. Several of their governments paid the ransom to get them back, but of course, the United States doesn't negotiate with terrorists, so Lincoln's fate, and that of the three other Americans with him, is unknown at this point."

Kurt's brow furrowed. "So, Jane is stealing this artwork and selling it on the black market to fund her brother's release." It would certainly fit with her history of protecting her brother at all costs.

"That doesn't fit with the information Rich has gleaned from his dark web contacts," Zapata pointed out. "He's adamant that someone named Shepherd is behind them in order to fund a terrorist attack."

Kurt frowned. As annoying as he found Rich Dotcom personally, he had to admit their informant's intel had always been spot-on. "Okay, so maybe this theft isn't tied to the others. Maybe Jane just took advantage of those thefts to steal the painting to ransom her brother, hoping it would be attributed to this other thief."

"If Jane stole the painting," Patterson commented. "I ran a forensic gait analysis on the video from the theft, comparing it to some footage of Jane taken earlier in the day, and it certainly could be her, but it's far from conclusive proof. From what we can tell so far, she appears to have been a model citizen her entire adult life."

"Go talk to her," Mayfair advised Kurt. "See if you can shake something loose. In the meantime, I'll see if I can find a judge to issue a search warrant for Ms. Kruger's home and office based on Patterson's . . . gait analysis."

Kurt mulled over what he had learned as he prepped to question Jane, his heart heavy as he made his way back to the interview room. Jane was sitting with her shoulders slightly hunched as he entered, but she met his gaze levelly as he took the seat across from her. "Ms. Kruger. My team has been filling me in on your history. I'm sorry for your parents' loss. And what happened to your brother. I can't imagine what you must be going through, not knowing where—or how—he is."

Jane was caught off-guard by Kurt's gentleness, and tears welled in her eyes. "Thank you, but . . . my bro—Lincoln's alive. I have to believe that."

"Of course you do." Kurt had to restrain himself from reaching across the table and taking Jane's hand in his to try to ease the sadness in her eyes. "I'm a big brother, and believe me, there's nothing I wouldn't do to protect my sister." He paused for a beat. "Including stealing priceless works of art to fund her ransom, if need be."

Jane reeled back as if Kurt had slapped her. "So that's your plan? Make nice to me, pretend to sympathize, and get me to just break down in tears and confess to you? Nice try, but you'll have to do better than that."

"I'm not faking anything," Kurt shot back. "I do know what it's like to go to any lengths to protect your sibling, and I am trying to help you. We know you stole the painting. We have you on tape." He withdrew the surveillance photo and slid it across the table to her. "But if you'll just come clean, there's not a judge in the land who won't sympathize with you. I'm sure the mitigating circumstances will be taken into account at your sentencing."

Jane's eyebrows rose as she looked at the barely visible figure in the photo. "You're claiming you can tell that's me from this picture? Impressive, Special Agent Weller. Can you pull rabbits out of hats too?" She took a deep breath as temper flared in his eyes, willing herself to stay calm. "Look, I'll admit that you've concocted a plausible motive for me to commit the crime, and if you've looked into my background, you no doubt know I have a juvenile record for theft, but there are two big problems with your theory."

"Oh yeah?" Kurt queried. "And what are those?"

Jane cocked her head in an uncanny approximation of the figure in the photo before her. "For starters, there's a world of difference between picking pockets and stealing food from convenience stores to survive, and the skillset needed for high-end art theft. And more importantly . . ." She took a deep breath. "The terrorists who kidnapped my brother aren't asking for a monetary ransom, Agent Weller. They're demanding a prisoner swap of several of Al-Qaeda's top lieutenants. So if someone starts breaking those men out of whatever hole the CIA has them in, you might have cause to suspect me. Until then . . ." She smiled thinly. "I'm afraid you've got nothing."

Kurt slammed his fist down on the table. "This isn't a game, Jane. I may not have conclusive proof of your involvement yet, but we're getting warrants for your home and office now, and our agents will be tearing those places apart before the day is out. And since we have credible intel that this string of art thefts is being used to fund an upcoming terrorist attack, trust me, I won't stop until I find that proof. I can only pray that we'll find it in time to stop Shepherd."

He hadn't meant to let Shepherd's name slip, but the way that Jane's eyes flew to his, her face paling, convinced him beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was familiar to her. "Do you know this man?"

"No," Jane replied dully after a moment. Her hands were shaking so badly that she had to clasp them together to still their trembling. "No, I'm not acquainted with any man by that name."

Kurt sighed. Clearly, he was going to get nowhere with Jane this way. He gentled his tone and tried a different tack. "Look, you seem to me like a good person who's gotten caught up in a bad situation for reasons I can't understand. I don't think you want to risk having the deaths of god only knows how many innocent people on your conscience, so if you'll come clean to me now, before we find proof of your involvement, I'll do everything in my power to help you."

Jane glanced down at her hands, refusing to meet his gaze any longer but not responding, and Kurt sighed again as he rose. "I'm going to be leading the search of your apartment, but I'll leave an agent outside the door in case you decide you want to talk. The clock's ticking, Ms. Kruger."

He exited without a backwards glance.


	4. Chapter 3

Jane's apartment was in the building opposite Sarah's, and Kurt's eyebrows rose as he stepped from the SUV onto familiar turf. It was far from the most expensive neighborhood in the city, but it was more upscale than he had expected a curator with relatively few years of experience to be able to afford. It was pricey even for Sarah, and she numbered several pro athletes among the clients of her physical therapy business.

Jane's apartment was on the twelfth floor. According to their intel, she was single and lived alone, so Kurt was surprised when the door swung open a few seconds after they'd announced themselves. He was even more stunned to see his sister in the entryway. "Sarah? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'd ask you the same thing, but you yelled 'search warrant' loud enough to wake the dead," Sarah responded sarcastically.

Kurt's jaw clenched. "Sarah—"

"I saw on the news a little while ago that there was a robbery at the museum where Jane works," Sarah bit out. "I tried calling her to see how she was doing, but she didn't answer her phone, and when I checked with her assistant at the museum, she said Jane had left. So I came by to see if she was here."

"Wait a minute." Kurt struggled to catch up with this unexpected turn of events. "Jane Kruger is the friend you've been trying to set me up with?" Sarah had been trying to convince him to agree to a date with her for months, but he'd always said thanks but no thanks. His sister had many talents, but he suspected her matchmaking abilities would be even further down the list than her cooking skills.

His frown deepened as another possibility occurred to him. Had their meeting last night not been the coincidence he'd assumed? Could Jane have been targeting him all this time—and using his family in an attempt to get close to him?

"For all the good it did me," Sarah muttered. "She was as stubborn about not wanting to meet you as you were her. She has a strict no-dating-cops policy."

"There's a shock," Kurt said dryly, although his frown did lessen infinitesimally. If Jane were targeting him, it didn't make sense that she had rebuffed his sister's no doubt myriad attempts to engineer a meeting between them.

Sarah glared at her brother. "Not because she's a criminal, you jackass. But Jane's never been interested in dating anyone she couldn't get serious about, which would mean coming clean about her past. She's always said that she would just be setting herself up for heartbreak by getting involved with a cop, because all they would see when they learned the truth was a criminal. I told her she was wrong in your case, that you would be an exception to that rule." She blew out a breath. "I guess I was the one who was wrong."

"This has nothing to do with Jane's past," Kurt said stiffly, stung by the accusation. "We have . . . other evidence that Jane is involved in the theft, and we're following up on it. That's all."

"Oh yeah?" Sarah challenged. "What evidence?"

"We can't comment on the specifics of an ongoing investigation," Zapata said smoothly. "How did you get in here anyway?"

"With a key," Sarah stated the obvious in such a dry tone that Zapata flushed. "Which I've had for nearly the entire time I've known Jane. I take care of Rembrandt when she's traveling. Her cat," she said, nodding toward the gray tabby watching them with unblinking yellow eyes from his perch by the window. "Jane gave me the key even knowing that my brother was a cop, and I'm in and out of here all the time. Kind of blows your whole super-secret-thief theory out of the water, doesn't it?"

"Maybe," Kurt allowed, even as his hopes of getting a quick resolution to this case faded. Only an idiot would stash hot artwork where someone could stumble upon it, and Jane was nobody's fool. "We're still going to have to take a look around, though."

"Fine." Sarah took a seat on the sofa and crossed her arms. "Be my guest."

Kurt opened his mouth to tell Sarah that she needed to go, but the look she shot him convinced him that discretion was the better part of valor in this case. Apparently Zapata thought so as well. "Come on, Reade, let's leave the living room to Kurt so these two can talk. We'll check the rooms in the back."

 _Thanks a lot, Zapata,_ Kurt thought as she and Reade beat a hasty retreat. He could feel Sarah's eyes on him as he started his search. "So, uh . . . how long have you known Jane, sis?" She'd tried to set him up with various friends so often that he had paid no mind when she began mentioning Jane.

"We met at yoga class a little over a year ago," Sarah said tightly. "We got to talking on our way home the first time, and when we realized we lived so close, we started going together. And before I knew it, we were doing as many things as possible together."

"Wow. You two really hit it off," Kurt observed lightly.

Sarah nodded. "Jane is—well, I won't say she's like the sister I never had, but she's the closest thing to one I've had since Taylor."

Kurt felt his heart wrench at the tears shimmering in Sarah's eyes as she glanced up at him. He'd spent so many years grappling with his own emotions over Taylor's loss, hellbent on getting justice for her, that he sometimes forgot just how much her absence still affected his sister as well. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I might not have been interested in a romantic relationship with Jane, but I'm sorry I didn't at least make the effort to meet her."

"I'm sorry too." Sarah huffed out a sad sigh. "I'm sorry I didn't press the issue more when I realized something was wrong. I feel like we might not be here now if I could just have gotten her to open up to me—or convinced you to reach out to her." She ran a frustrated hand through her hair. "I know you thought this was all a matchmaking attempt on my part, and I don't deny that I think you two would be a really good fit, but I'm telling you, Kurt—something is seriously wrong with Jane. You have to help her."

"I'm trying," Kurt retorted. "I've been a cop long enough to recognize when someone is in trouble, Sarah, but she won't open up to me any more than she would you." He'd been hoping he would get a call from the agent guarding Jane since he left the NYO, but no dice. "I just—I don't know what else I can do."

"Let me talk to her," Sarah suggested. "She knows and trusts me. I've been urging her to confide in you ever since I realized there was something more going on with her than just her brother being kidnapped, and there were times I thought she really might. I don't believe for a moment that she's done anything wrong, but maybe now I can finally convince her to tell you what's going on."

Kurt hesitated. It went against protocol, and his innate desire to protect his sister, but at this point in the investigation, what could it hurt, really? They'd been working this case for months without generating one credible lead, and time was almost certainly running out. "All right. You can come back to the office with us when we finish our search."

He turned his attention to that now. Jane's apartment was a reflection of his initial impression of her: relaxed, but with an understated elegance that would be lost on the casual viewer. There were several paintings on the walls, but one in particular caught his eye: an oil portrait of a young girl appearing to take her first steps toward her mother's outstretched arms while her proud father looked on. It was set in Central Park with Belvedere Castle as the backdrop. "Gorgeous," he murmured as he moved toward it.

"My favorite too," Sarah agreed. "It's a Jane Kruger original."

Kurt's head whipped around. "Jane painted that?"

"She's incredibly talented." Sarah moved to stand beside him. "I've told her more than once that she should make a career of it, but she always says she's not good enough to make it more than a hobby. I keep telling her she's a better judge of art than that—that's how she afforded this place—but I get the feeling she prefers to work behind the scenes in the art world."

"What do you mean, 'that's how she afforded this place?'" Kurt asked curiously as he tore himself away from Jane's painting and continued his search.

"Jane invested in several paintings of a little-known artist while she was in college, and when he went big, she made a killing off them. I mean, it didn't make her a millionaire or anything, but it was enough for her to afford a generous down payment on this apartment and still have a tidy sum left over. She's had more moderate success with a few other artists since then."

Kurt nodded. That explained a lot—and it would be easy enough to verify. He began methodically searching the living room and kitchen, pushing aside the feeling of disquiet doing his job brought him this time. Somehow this felt like an even more intimate invasion than being inside Jane. At least he didn't have to rifle through her underwear drawer.

Her underwear . . . Kurt sucked in a breath at the memory of Jane standing before him in it. The set she'd worn had been more functional than fancy, but though he'd taken pleasure in stripping it off her, he'd been so focused on the unabashedly sexy woman before him that he'd paid it little mind. The wonder in her eyes as he'd touched her, the little gasps and sighs she'd uttered as he stoked her arousal to fever pitch, and the look on her face as pleasure claimed her for the first time were burned into his brain, and he wondered how long it would be before those memories stopped evoking a desire in him to do it all over again. He'd never felt such an intense connection with a woman in his life.

It was just his luck that she wasn't who'd she'd seemed.

Kurt rode in the backseat with Sarah on the way back to the NYO, but the four of them were largely silent on the drive, each of them lost in their own thoughts. He caught Zapata eyeing him oddly a few times, but he thought nothing of it until she asked Reade to take Sarah on up to SIOC so she could talk to him alone.

"Something you want to share with the class, Weller?" she asked dryly once the other two were well out of earshot.

"About what?" Kurt asked, so caught up in his own worries about the potential awkwardness of the upcoming conversation with Jane that he missed the sardonic gleam in Zapata's eyes.

"Oh, I don't know," Zapata drawled. "Maybe the fact that you're in a relationship with our prime suspect? That seems like a good place to start. And don't bother to deny it," she added when Kurt opened his mouth to do just that, pulling an all-too-familiar piece of notepaper from her pocket and slapping it against his chest. "I found this in Jane's nightstand."

"We're not in a relationship!" Kurt protested as he attempted to smooth the paper out. "It was just last night—" Too late he realized how that sounded.

All humor disappeared from Zapata's face as she stared up at him. "You're telling me you had a one-night stand with Jane last night? After she stole the painting? Oh, this is just great," she muttered as she read the truth in his face. "What the hell were you thinking?

"Well, obviously you weren't," she continued before Kurt could respond. "Not with your northern brain, at least. God, Weller. Do you realize how serious this is? It's bad enough that you screwed a total stranger, but one who's a criminal who's entangled you in her web of lies? This could end your career!"

"I'm well aware of that," Kurt retorted stiffly. "And I am fully prepared to accept the consequences of my actions."

"And I'm determined to make sure that you don't have to," Zapata fired back. "You're not just my boss, you're my friend, and I'm not about to stand by and watch you flush your career down the toilet for some piece of a—"

"Zapata!" Kurt barked.

"Some woman," Zapata amended without missing a beat, "who is at best caught up in a mess of her own making, and at worst a terrorist, and who has insinuated herself into your life for god only knows what purpose. Kurt . . . you do realize that Jane's not an innocent victim here, right?"

"We don't know what she is yet, Zapata," Kurt countered. "I'll admit that at first I thought the same thing, especially when I found out about her relationship with Sarah, but as much as I don't normally believe in coincidences, in this case, that's all it appears to be. You heard Sarah say that Jane had no interest in ever meeting me, and she's assured me that she's going to keep quiet about our . . . date. She's already lied about it, so even if she did change her story now, it would be suspect." He blew out a breath. "I'm not ruling anything out at this point, but if Jane is targeting me, it's hard to see what benefit she's getting out of it."

"It's possible it's coincidence," Zapata allowed. "Or maybe you're giving her the benefit of the doubt is the point. I recognize that there are parallels between your past and hers that are making you sympathize with her, Weller, but she's not you. You don't know what her moral code is like, or if she even has one, and there are still more questions than answers about her past. Until we know more, you can't afford to let your guard down with her."

"I know," Kurt said. "I know," he repeated more firmly when Zapata cast him a doubtful look. "I may not have . . . exercised the best judgment in the past twenty-four hours, but I'm not an idiot, Zapata. I'm going to be much more careful going forward. I'll be okay, I promise."

But even as he said it, he had the sense that life as he knew it had absolutely, irrevocably changed forever.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I am so sorry for the long delay in updating this story (and my others). My English teacher kept me ridiculously busy this semester writing papers on things like how 8=5, but fortunately that is all behind me now, and I have almost a month before summer classes start to focus on my stories. To any of you who have left a review on one of my stories that I didn't respond to, I apologize. It always means a lot to me to know that people are still reading my stories and to hear from readers. I hope this chapter has been worth the wait.

* * *

 _This string of art thefts is being used to fund an upcoming terrorist attack . . . I don't think you want to risk having the deaths of god only knows how many innocent people on your conscience . . ._

Kurt's parting words to her played on a repeating loop in Jane's head as the minutes ticked by in silence, until she felt like the very walls were closing in on her. Part of her wanted to believe that he was mistaken, he had to be, but deep down she knew . . . she knew Shepherd was capable of it.

She'd certainly been a terrorist to the children she'd taken in.

The only question now was, what was she going to do about it? Jane drew a deep breath and tried to think, to reason a way out of this, but it seemed impossible. Either she remained silent and allowed countless innocent people to die, or . . .

Or she signed her brother's death warrant.

Time seemed to tick by agonizingly slowly as Jane pondered her choices, and she had no idea how much had passed before she heard raised voices outside the door. "You put Jane in an interrogation room like a common criminal?" demanded a very familiar voice as the door began to slide open. "And you're surprised she wouldn't talk to you? What the hell, Kurt?"

Kurt opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he had been about to say was lost when Jane locked eyes with him. She glanced from him to his sister and then back again as the stunning truth dawned on her. Sarah Weller. Kurt Weller. Oh god.

She had slept not only with the cop whose duty it was to arrest her, but with her best friend's brother.

"Jane!" Sarah rushed over and hugged her fiercely. "Are you okay? I apologize for my brother arresting you," she continued before Jane could respond. "He has a good heart, and he means well, but he's a man. You know how clueless they can be."

 _Not nearly as clueless as me,_ Jane thought with grim amusement. She should have made the connection almost immediately, but in her defense, it had been an eventful twenty-four hours. And the photos of Kurt in Sarah's apartment were of a much younger version, because, in Sarah's words, he was "a bit camera shy and too damn focused on his job to stop and smell the roses." She had glanced at the pictures only perfunctorily, not wanting to encourage her friend's matchmaking tendencies.

Of course, now it appeared that Sarah had more talent in that department than Jane had given her credit for. Or would have, if everything Jane believed about herself hadn't turned out to be a lie. She ignored Kurt's protests that he hadn't arrested her as she soaked in the warmth of an embrace she would likely never feel again. "I'm . . ." Fine, she started to say when Sarah once again asked her how she was, but she was done lying, even to herself. "I've been better."

Sarah gave Jane another quick squeeze before stepping back. "I know something more is going on with you than just your brother being kidnapped. Whatever it is, Kurt can help. He's a great guy, and a terrific agent, and I'm not saying that just because he's my brother. Talk to him, Jane. Please."

"Sarah . . ." Jane took a deep breath as her only way out became crystal clear. "I know you've been worried about me, and I appreciate your concern, but I'm just scared for my brother." She swallowed down the wave of emotions that came with the reminder. "Now if there's nothing else, I really need to get back to the museum."

Kurt held her gaze for a long moment before inclining his head, and she walked out without a backwards glance.

xxx

It was well after nine before Kurt walked into his darkened apartment, and he heaved a weary sigh as he tossed his keys on the entryway table and headed straight for the kitchen to pour himself a glass of scotch.

"Rough day at the office?" Jane inquired as she switched on the lamp beside his couch.

Kurt had his gun out and trained on the intruder before he registered who she was. "Jesus, Jane. I could have shot you." He holstered his gun as he walked over to her. "I had a feeling I'd be arresting you soon, but I didn't expect it to be for breaking and entering my apartment."

Jane raised an eyebrow as Kurt pulled out his cuffs. "Whoa. We can discuss using those, but don't you think you should offer me a drink first?" She sighed as Kurt levelled her a steely glare at the joke. "I'm just . . . I need your help."

"That's funny. I offered you my help eight hours ago, and you threw it back in my face." Kurt glanced away from Jane's pleading green eyes. "Stand up and put your hands behind your back."

"If you're serious about arresting me for breaking and entering, in the interests of saving us both time and you embarrassment, let me assure you I didn't do that. I didn't even help myself to a glass of that scotch, although I'd greatly appreciate one." Jane dug in her pocket and held up the evidence to corroborate her story. "I had a key."

Kurt plucked the key from Jane's fingers. "How did you—Sarah," he answered his own question. He retraced his steps and poured Jane the requested glass of scotch, taking a healthy swallow of his own as he made his way back to the couch. "What is it you want, Jane?"

Jane stared down into her scotch for a long moment before forcing herself to meet Kurt's coolly assessing gaze. Fleetingly, she wondered if this would be easier or harder if they hadn't shared a night of passion. A night of passion that had begun on this very couch. "I'll come clean with you about everything I know, but in return I want your word that you'll do everything you can to help my brother."

"Jane . . ." Kurt blew out a breath. "Look, I'm happy to make whatever inquiries I can, but I really don't see how I can be of much help. The FBI handles domestic matters, and since your brother was abducted overseas . . ."

"Shepherd had my brother abducted overseas," Jane corrected. "But I believe Lincoln was smuggled back into the States several months ago."

"So you do know him." Kurt rocked back on his heels. "How am I supposed to believe anything you tell me now when you've already lied to me?"

"I told you I didn't know any man by that name," Jane fired back. "And that was the god's honest truth."

"Shepherd's a woman?" Kurt sank down onto the couch as that truth took root. "Are you sure? How do you know?"

Jane took another swallow of scotch, relishing the burn as it slid down her throat. "Because Shepherd was my mother." Her lips tilted up in a humorless smile at the dumbfounded look on Kurt's face. "I guess I should start at the beginning, huh?"

"I think that would be for the best," Kurt agreed. "How did the two of you meet?"

"I picked her pocket." Jane's smile turned bitter at the memory. "A week after I ran away with Lincoln the last time. I thought I'd gotten away clean, but I rounded the block and ran smack into her. I thought sure she was going to haul me straight to the nearest police station, but instead she sat me down and pried my story out of me, then convinced me to go get Lincoln and come home with her."

"I'm guessing she didn't do that out of the goodness of her heart," Kurt said dryly.

Jane snorted. "I'm fairly certain Shepherd doesn't have a heart, although she certainly fooled me in the beginning. She bought us new clothes and books and toys, and for the first time in a long time, we had regular home-cooked meals, and enough of them. She even had us choose new names to commemorate our new start in life. But worst of all, she showered Lincoln with affection."

"She used him against you," Kurt guessed.

Jane nodded. "Lincoln was so young when our parents died that he didn't even remember them, and by the time I realized there was a quid pro quo, he already thought of Shepherd as a mother. We both did."

"What did she make you do?" Kurt asked.

"She brought in professional thieves to hone my skills in several different areas, just as a game, she claimed, but once I started getting good, she started pressuring me into using them. At first it started out small, just picking a certain person's pocket or taking something from their office while Shepherd arranged a distraction. Eventually she stepped up her threats against Lincoln to force me into more . . . high-end thefts. That's where my love for art began. I always thought it was the one good thing to come out of my time with Shepherd, but now . . ."

"I'm sorry, Jane." Kurt sighed as he attempted to process all that she had told him so far. "I know what it's like to have a parent who's a criminal. My dad . . ." He couldn't get into that right now. "So I'm assuming Shepherd had Lincoln abducted to blackmail you into stealing those paintings for her. Do you know what she's planning?"

"No!" Jane sat bolt upright. "No, I parted ways with Shepherd the minute I turned eighteen, and I haven't laid eyes on her since. We hadn't even talked until she called to tell me she had Lincoln and lay out her demands, and the only face-to-face meetings I've had have been with my . . . with one of her lieutenants."

"And what is this lieutenant to you? Jane. I can't help you if you're not completely honest with me," Kurt told her when she hesitated.

"Oscar . . . Oscar was my fiancé, okay?" Jane closed her eyes at the rush of emotion the memories of that time evoked. "I told you that Shepherd and I parted ways when I was eighteen, but it was far from amicable. I made the mistake of telling her my intention to leave and take Lincoln with me beforehand, but my promise to keep her secrets in exchange for our freedom wasn't enough to reassure her. She insisted on taking me out to dinner the night before my birthday to commemorate our time together, and I was still just naïve enough to believe she cared."

Jane gave a harsh bark of laughter. "God, what a fool I was. Shepherd drugged me, and when I woke up the next day in an abandoned building, she and Lincoln were gone. I didn't see him again for four years."

Kurt resisted the urge to pull Jane into his arms. "And Oscar? How did he fit into all this?"

"Shepherd sent Oscar to insinuate himself into my life and keep tabs on me. She wanted to know not only if I had talked to anyone else about her, but if I could be persuaded to open up about my life with her to someone I . . . came to care about."

"That bitch." Kurt bit back a few choice words he'd never uttered in the presence of a lady. God help Shepherd if he ever got her in a room alone. Or Oscar. "I'm guessing you didn't fall into her trap."

"No, or I'm sure I wouldn't be here now." Jane took a deep breath. "Lincoln was the only family I had, and having him ripped away from me like that, not knowing if he was alive or dead . . . I threw myself into work and school to keep from going crazy. Oscar was the first person I let myself get close to again, and in retrospect the fact that we had so many interests in common that he seemed tailor-made for me should have been a huge red flag, but I just . . . I was still so damn naïve."

"No," Kurt disputed, "you were lonely and vulnerable. You needed someone, and Oscar took advantage of that. When did you figure out he was Shepherd's plant?"

"Not soon enough." Jane smiled humorlessly. "Almost from the moment I accepted his proposal, Oscar started pressuring me to set a wedding date, but I just couldn't bear to get married without Lincoln there. And then one day, right before graduation, he showed up at our apartment. When he walked in and saw Oscar, he went ballistic. I thought he was going to kill Oscar before I managed to separate them. And then when I found out that Shepherd had told Lincoln I was dead—and that Oscar had known where he was all along . . ." Jane shook her head. "Part of me wanted to finish the job myself."

Part of him wished that she had. Kurt wrapped his hands tightly around his glass of scotch to keep from wrapping them around Jane's.

"Oscar . . . Oscar had the nerve to continue to insist that he loved me, that nothing had to change. He told me he still wanted to marry me. I told him if I ever saw him again, I'd ensure that no woman ever wanted to marry him."

"Good for you," Kurt said fiercely.

"Yeah, well . . ." Jane shrugged. "I didn't exactly make good on that promise. But apparently Shepherd decided I could be trusted to keep my mouth shut, because she left us alone after that. At least until she needed my skill set again."

"Jesus," Kurt groaned. "And I thought my childhood was messed up. You didn't deserve that, Jane. You didn't deserve any of this. And I'm so sorry you're having to deal with Oscar again. But I have to ask . . . why not come clean about all this earlier today?"

"Because . . . Lincoln and I and Oscar weren't the only kids Shepherd took in. She's a modern-day Fagin, Kurt. She molded some of us into criminals—thieves, hackers, con men, prostitutes. And for others, she footed the bill for boarding schools in order for them to become lawyers, judges, politicians." She paused for a beat. "Cops."

Kurt went cold. "You think Shepherd has someone on the inside at the FBI."

"I couldn't take that chance. If Shepherd found out I talked, Lincoln and I would have both been dead by nightfall." Jane gazed down at her hands. "But I could never live with myself if I'd kept quiet and innocent people paid the price for it. Just please . . . help my brother."

"I'll do you one better." Kurt gently brushed his knuckles over Jane's cheek. "I'll help the both of you. I'm sure I can get you a deal if you agree to help us bring Shepherd down. And Sarah would never forgive me if I didn't."

"Thank you," Jane choked out as she flung herself into Kurt's arms.

"You're welcome, Jane," Kurt said as he smoothed his hands up and down her spine. "You're very welcome."


End file.
